


you've got the answers to my confessions

by wtfoctagon



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: F/F, idk i just wanted them to have a real conversation and maybe flirt, they'd get along and be great girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:46:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfoctagon/pseuds/wtfoctagon
Summary: She’s sitting at a café just blocks down from her flat, enjoying a cup of tea and a book when the charming young woman takes the seat across from her the same way she did on their first meeting: abruptly but smoothly, and with a bit of subtle flair. Julia recognizes her immediately, even before she looks up to meet her sudden table companion.Carmen leans forward on the small café table on one elbow and flashes her a dazzling smile.“Hello again, Jules.”





	you've got the answers to my confessions

Why in the world did she let Carmen Sandiego go? 

Julia sighs as she turns in her bed for the umpteenth time that night. It was a perfect capture. A dark night at the National Library of France, with alarms blaring everywhere, she had her sidearm trained on the crimson criminal whose back was against the wall of a dead end of a basement hallway with no windows. Carmen Sandiego had no escape, and Julia Argent would have been the one to apprehend her—possibly earning her a promotion and some credit for her hard work, for  _once;_  

So why did she simply lower her gun and step aside for Sandiego? 

She kicks her blankets off and grabs for her glasses, groaning lightly. The red blurs on her nightstand shift into focus as she pushes them on: three-thirty am. Ugh. Even if she falls asleep at this exact moment, she’s going to be at work with only four hours of sleep. How miserable.  

Swinging her feet off the bed and into her slippers, Julia pads towards her kitchen to find something to help her sleep for the fifth night in a row. It’s a little ridiculous, she’ll admit—why worry to the point of sleeplessness about something that she can’t change? What’s done is done, and she’ll make sure to be more decisive the next time she encounters Sandiego—

Except, she  _was_ being decisive that night. At the time, it seemed like such a rational decision: Devineaux was chasing a red herring while a VILE operative was getting away with the  _Jikji_ _,_ the first document in the world to be printed with a movable metal type. Julia knew that Carmen Sandiego was the only one who could stop a highly trained thief and recover the stolen document. Letting her go was the only way to be sure that VILE wouldn’t get away with a historic treasure.  

Which was a conclusion that she arrived upon based on the absolute conviction that Carmen Sandiego intended to return those documents to the public. A conviction that Chief and Devineaux do not share, despite the mounting evidence that Carmen Sandiego wants nothing more than to preserve history and stop VILE as much as ACME does, despite the countless times she has done nothing but try and help people— 

Julia stops herself just short of slamming her medicine cabinet shut with far more force than necessary. She should not do that. She does not want to break the mirror, or cause other damage. She is a rational person who makes rational decisions based on evidence and extensive deduction.  

She sighs. Pops open the bottle of melatonin and shakes a few into her hands. Caps the bottle. Sets it down on the sink before running her hands through her hair.  

It’s hard, lately, trying to be this rational person. Because lately, she feels like the only person who can see the truth while others are so adamantly blind to it—but truth is a relative thing, and it would be irrational in and of itself to insist on a fact that is constantly rejected by anyone other than herself. Perhaps Carmen Sandiego’s supposed righteousness is not as obvious as she thinks it is. Perhaps she  _is_ romanticizing a criminal based on a few assumptions. Perhaps her convictions are based on nothing more than a desire to believe that maybe, just maybe, a modern Robin Hood does walk among them.  

Perhaps she is just a naïve little girl, just as everyone says.  

Julia downs the small melatonin tablets and exits her bathroom. She needs to get some sleep. What’s done is done and there is no point worrying about it. What matters now is what she’ll do going forward, and  _that_ is a headache she can deal with  _after_ she’s had some rest. 

* * *

 

The next time she comes face to face with Carmen Sandiego is just two days later, on a delightful Sunday afternoon. 

(Special agents don’t typically get weekends off, Julia thinks, but Devineaux insisted that both he and his partner get this day of the week to themselves. The man isn’t religious, but he is religiously  _French,_ and they seem to hold their Sundays rather sacred.) 

She’s sitting at a café just blocks down from her flat, enjoying a cup of tea and a book when the charming young woman takes the seat across from her the same way she did on their first meeting: abruptly but smoothly, and with a bit of subtle flair. Julia recognizes her immediately, even before she looks up to meet her sudden table companion.  

Carmen leans forward on the small café table on one elbow and flashes her a dazzling smile.  

“Hello again, Jules.”  

Julia blinks at her, baffled again by the nickname. The fact that she’s never been called a nickname aside, the kind of...  _boldness_ it takes to address someone like that upon first meeting them is unfathomable to Julia. Nicknames assume a kind of familiarity, an intimacy, almost, and that’s not ordinarily something one establishes so quickly or easily— 

Then again, Carmen Sandiego is nothing short of extraordinary, is she not? Julia looks her up and down— decked out in a crop denim jacket and a henley shirt, she fits the look of the local fashionable student population but somehow stands out all the same. Perhaps it’s the confident attitude. University students are never so sure of what they’re doing at any given moment. 

(Then again, neither is Julia, despite having graduated a couple of years ago.) 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Sandiego,” she answers mildly, putting down her book. “Back from Seoul so soon?” 

She enjoys a small flash of satisfaction at watching Carmen’s eyes widen, caught off-guard.  

“How did you know I was in Korea? The news hasn’t broken yet,” she says, leaning back and crossing her arms warily as if she’s starting to suspect that ACME is surveilling her—Julia almost laughs. Oh, what wouldn’t Chief and Devineaux give to have a means of keeping an eye on  _La Femme Rouge’s_ movements.  

“You’re wearing a jacket with a Korean brand name on the lapel, which I assume is a recent acquisition from the stiffness of the denim,” she answers, smiling when Carmen tucks her chin to her chest to pout at the logo. “And judging from your M.O., you seem to have a strong philosophy on preserving people’s links to their own history.” Julia takes a sip of her tea. “I simply deduced that you would be returning the  _Jikji_ to its place of origin.” 

Carmen raises a brow at that. “You almost seem  _happy_ that I took it to Seoul. Shouldn’t you be mad I didn’t return it to the National Library of France?” 

“But why would you?” Julia counters. “It is a Korean historical document. You, no doubt, would believe it belongs to the Korean people, despite the official reasons for it being housed in France.” 

“The  _official_ argument,” Carmen says, raising her hands to do a sardonic air quotes gesture, “is that as the first document printed with movable metal type technology, it belongs all of mankind and not a specific country.”  

“Which is a fair point, is it not?” Julia probes.  

Carmen frowns. “France is also a ‘specific country’ that refused to give up custody, not a neutral ground for all mankind.” 

“Another fair point,” Julia concedes. “But France has resources dedicated to preserving historical artifacts that Korea may not.” 

Carmen shakes her head. “Resources can be moved anywhere in the world. History happens in a given place with the people who live there. It has a _home_.” 

The way she says that word— _home—_ with such a quiet fierceness, a stubborn conviction, with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed over an intense stare—it  _speaks_ to Julia, somehow. This isn’t the voice of a petty thief who is after money, nor the voice of an evildoer. No, this is the voice of someone who  _believes_ in something, who has dedicated her life to living that something.  

(And dedication, a certain kind of devotion to an ideal—that is worth admiring, is it not? Must it be considered so naïve of Julia to find Carmen Sandiego admirable?) 

Julia stares into the steel of Carmen’s grey eyes for a moment longer before looking down at her tea to take a sip.  

“Why are you here, Ms. Sandiego?” 

There’s a pause before Julia looks up to see Carmen laugh, her shoulders relaxing somewhat. 

“What, can’t a girl just want to argue the finer points of artifact custody ethics with her favourite agent of a shadowy international intelligence agency?” 

Julia gives her best deadpan stare. “Agent Devineaux is currently indisposed, I’m afraid.” 

Carmen grins. “Aw, don’t be like that, Jules. I obviously like you better. _”_  

Something jumps in Julia’s chest, more than she’s comfortable admitting when Carmen flashes those—those absolutely lovely dimples at her and tilts her head like a playful kitten, wisps of auburn hair escaping her charmingly unruly updo— 

She coughs. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

“Not with you, I know,” Carmen shrugs. “You’re too smart for that.” 

Where is this... this friendliness, this familiarity coming from? Julia crosses her own arms as she tries not to shrink into her seat. What does Carmen Sandiego want? 

“Then you should know that your attempts at being evasive won’t work on me either. I’ll ask you again; why are you here?” 

Carmen blinks. “Wow. You weren’t this guarded the last time we talked.” 

“The last time we talked, I wasn’t aware that you were an international superthief,” Julia says. “I won’t be making that mistake again.” 

She takes note of the fact that Carmen seems pleased to be called a ‘superthief’; the way the corners of her mouth lift just slightly before she purses her lips wryly seems almost as if she’s trying to hide a preening smile.  

“Fair,” Carmen says simply before leaning forward on her elbows, arms still crossed. “I came here to ask you something.” 

Julia frowns. “Me, specifically?” 

Carmen smiles lightly before she nods. “Yes, you. Unless you know any other gorgeous special agent traipsing around the basement of national libraries in a fancy suit. Your new uniform looks great on you, by the by,” she says with a wink.  

Why does she insist upon flattery right after admitting that it wouldn’t work? Perhaps it is simply part of the way she speaks—Carmen Sandiego is unrelentingly charismatic, after all, and it would be remiss for a thief to not use that to her full advantage.  

“Thank you,” Julia replies politely. “What is it that you wish to ask me?” 

There’s a moment where Carmen simply stares at Julia with those big, dark eyes, leaning forward, and Julia gets this distinct sense that she’s being  _studied,_ somehow. Like all of her responses and actions are being picked apart down to the minutiae, like she’s being analyzed— 

“Why did you let me go?” 

Julia sighs. Oh, boy. Did she have her reasons at the time? Yes. Does she have a coherent answer for the question in and of itself now? No, not really. She resists the urge to take off her glasses and rub her temples. What a headache.  

Why did she let Carmen Sandiego go? Well... 

“Because you asked me to.” 

 _“Please, Jules,” Carmen Sandiego pleaded, her back against a wall, her hands outstretched—not reaching for a gadget, or an escape, just for an honest understanding. “The book isn’t in the briefcase that_ _Devine_ _a_ _ux’s_ _chasing—it's hidden in the janitor’s_ _toolcase_ _that’s being taken out of the building by VILE right now!”_  

 _Julia shifted her sweaty grip on her sidearm, trying not to shake. “I-if you would please, put your hands above your head and surrender, I will alert the local gendarme immediately—”_  

 _“Do you really think_ _Devineaux a_ _nd the French police will be able to outsmart a whole team of VILE agents?” Carmen Sandiego took a small step closer. “If that book gets out of this building, we’ll never see it again. Please, Agent Argent. You need to let me go after them.”_  

 _She was so earnest. And Julia knew that she could just have been a great actress, that she could have been lying through her teeth, but—but she was standing there, anxious, dark eyes wavering and searching Julia’s through the dark, looking more agitated than Julia had ever seen her, and..._  

“And you _believed_ me?” 

Carmen’s incredulously raised brow does nothing for Julia’s confidence. She tries not to wither in her seat.  

“You—I—” Julia sighs yet again. “Considering your M.O. and history, it made sense at the time that you were only present to stop the theft of the book. Besides, you seemed so... distressed.” 

“Well, you know. Being at gunpoint tends to do that to people.” 

Julia’s eyes snap up to Carmen’s. Yes, she’s smiling, but it’s a bit wry and chagrined and... 

“Oh. Oh, goodness, no, you didn’t think I actually would have—” 

She almost chokes to a stop, not able to finish the thought. _Her?_ Even holding a fully loaded,  _live_ firearm, nevermind ever pointing it at someone and _firing?_  

Carmen shrugs. “You never know.” 

There’s something almost defeated to the way Carmen says it—the way she lifts her shoulders and lets them fall flippantly is designed to seem nonchalant, but the movement has too much weight on it. Her laid-back smile is _ever so slightly_ too stony.  

“I...” Julia runs her thumb on the lip of her teacup for lack of anything else to wring out her sudden restlessness into. “ACME agents are only outfitted with a custom, non-lethal sidearm meant to incapacitate. And even then, I was relieved enough to see that you were still alive to begin with, I never would have...”  

“Woah, wait—” Carmen sits up straight and holds up her hands. “Back up—you thought I was _dead?”_  

“Well—” She can feel her face warming as she clasps her teacup with both hands. Why does she feel so defensive all of a sudden? “You disappeared without a trace for six months after being grievously injured, it is not such an unreasonable concern to have had!”  

“You—” Carmen holds out her index halfway to pointing it at Julia before taking a deep breath and pressing it against her own lips instead. “Okay. Hold on,” she says, curling her finger and lightly pressing her fist against her mouth as her eyes wander over the small café table, seeming to gather her thoughts. Dark eyes glinting brown and amber in the afternoon sunlight flit from one point to another like little birds and Julia can’t help but find it... rather endearing, if she dares to say so. 

(Which she does not. Not aloud, anyway.) 

“Okay,” Carmen repeats, more decisively this time with her hands clasped together in front of her and her elbows on the table. “First off—how did you know that I was hurt?” 

Julia taps her fingers against the cup lightly. “There were three sets of footprints leading out of the maintenance passage in the room. One was centered, alone, and the other two were together, with patterns matching that of a heavy limp and an assisting companion.”  

“And what tipped you off that I was the one with the limp, not the other two?” She asks, tilting her head slightly before narrowing her eyes. 

“The limping tracks were consistent with the ones we’ve found on site after your previous appearances,” Julia says simply. “And I would be correct in assuming that you do not have a habit of wearing Japanese sandals or boots that are at least three sizes bigger than your usual, yes?” 

Julia can hear Carmen’s shoes tapping on the ground in a steady, almost thoughtful rhythm.  

“Yes. You would. That still doesn’t explain how you thought I was injured badly enough that I might have died, though. The limp could have been from an ankle sprain or something.” 

“Perhaps. But the signs of struggle in the room were...” Horrific, to be honest. Julia can still remember the way her heartrate started accelerating steadily as she found more dents, skids, and crushed objects. “There was evidence that something, possibly a person, had been thrown around the room with an... inhumane amount of force. More than the average person might have survived without medical attention afterwards.” 

“And you didn’t think that I got that medical attention?” 

“At first I did, yes. But then months passed without a single appearance of yours, and I...” 

Julia searches for the right way to word what she was feeling without actually saying it outright, but Carmen beats her to it. 

“You started to get worried about me.” Julia doesn’t look up but can almost hear the frown in the way Carmen’s voice rasps slightly. “Why?” 

Julia shrugs weakly. “It is not so strange to be concerned about the wellbeing of another person, is it?” 

She dares to look up at Carmen and finds her staring with a raised brow, so thoroughly unimpressed and unsatisfied with her answer that she doesn’t seem to deign it worthy of a response. Fair enough. It was a lukewarm excuse, anyhow. Julia sighs as she tries to weave together an adequate explanation.  

“In the times inbetween your appearances, I would investigate the occurrences where you had been sighted, but no theft was reported. Agent Devineaux dismissed them as failed attempts on your behalf, but I wasn’t entirely convinced.”  

(Julia watches as the corner of Carmen’s mouth does a quick upwards flick, as if pleased that Julia didn’t believe she had simply failed a few heists. The fact that Carmen Sandiego seems to take pride in her work as a thief shouldn’t be cute, but...) 

“What I found was... odd, to say the least. Abandoned warehouses in Indonesia full of cheap instant rice packets, on the same island as a burned down laboratory.” Julia shakes her head. “I didn’t understand it until I managed to interview the woman in Ecuador who donated a historically priceless doubloon. She said that a friend had given it to her, but refused to elaborate. That, coupled with rumors that you had stopped a premature rocket launch in Australia, helped me start to piece things together.” 

Carmen crosses her arms again and leans back in her seat, less relaxed and more stiffly, almost as if it’s a pretense to put some distance between them. Julia can still hear her feet tapping beneath the table, a little more impatiently now. 

“And you arrived at the conclusion that...?” 

Julia takes a slow breath. How to explain? She already feels like she’s rambled on and on about dull facts about dull things that may not mean anything. 

“I... arrived at the conclusion that...” she says it in slow and measured breaths. “That you must have stopped some scheme to poison the rice production in Indonesia and sell cheap, lower quality rice to starving citizens. That you found an Ecuadorian doubloon and fought off VILE agents to make sure it was given to Ecuador. That you had stopped some sort of calamity from happening near sacred indigenous ground in Australia.” 

Loose conjecture about events that may or may not have happened, yes, but when she couples the evidence with everything Carmen’s done so far—the Magna Carta, the black on magenta stamp—she can't help but believe that... 

“That the world is better for having you in it, Ms. Sandiego,” She says, with a simple conviction that even catches her off-guard—it's as much a confirmation for herself as for anyone else. She firmly and irrevocably believes that Carmen Sandiego is good for this world, no matter what Devineaux and the Chief might say. “And that’s why I was worried about you.” 

Something in her jacket pings before she can analyze Carmen’s raised brows. Her communicator pen. 

“Excuse me,” she says, laying one hand over her jacket pocket and stuffing the other into her pants pocket to retrieve her previously counted out tip for the barista. “I’m being paged.” She lays the coins into her teacup saucer, then gathers up the set in her hands as she rises from her seat. “News about the _Jikji_ must have broken, most likely. I must be going.”  

And then she realizes, as she’s standing there, that she has absolutely no idea what to say as a parting. Another time? She doubts they’ll be meeting like this again. Enjoy your afternoon? Overly formal, and sounds too much like a sarcastic platitude when she wants to end their conversation on a... moderately amicable note.  

Just as she’s about to blurt out an egregiously awkward “goodbye,” Carmen speaks up and rescues her once more.  

“Aren't you going to at least try to arrest me?” 

Julia frowns. “Why would I? You are not stealing anything presently, are you?” 

“No,” Carmen pouts – unreasonably cutely— “But I probably will. Like, next week. Or something.” 

“Then I’m sure that we will apprehend you and secure the stolen item, or more likely, you will get away and the item will be returned to whoever needs it most,” she says firmly. “Regardless, it would be foolish for me to attempt to arrest you without any backup when I am clearly outmatched.” 

Carmen grins. “Why not? Devineaux does it all the time.” 

“Which lands him in rather mortifying predicaments each time that I would very much like to avoid,” Julia mutters under her breath, though she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. Carmen starts laughing and she can feel her cheeks start to burn up.  “I-I mean—he's just very eager, despite seeing how capable you are—” 

She tries to find more words to diffuse her remark, but the way that Carmen laughs—loose fist held in front of giggles that squish her dimples in—is so uniquely delightful that she forgets why she was feeling so guilty at all.  

Her pen pings again and she sighs. 

“In any case, I really must be going. Safe travels, Ms. Sandiego,” she says, hesitating as she remembers something. “Wonderful chatting with you.” 

The full-bloom grin on Carmen’s face sprouts a small smile on Julia’s as well. She tries to clamp it down half-heartedly as she turns and walks towards the counter of the café, feeling a little childishly proud of herself for coming up with the perfect parting.  _Safe travels._ Because when they next meet, it’ll undoubtedly be somewhere else in the world that direly needs Carmen Sandiego’s help, somewhere with rich history that needs safeguarding.  

And then, well. Julia will be there to arrest her, but really, who in the world knows what might happen?  


End file.
